


Prevention Measures

by TheHSPlayer



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Sex, Army of Two - Freeform, Incest, M/M, Military Backstory, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHSPlayer/pseuds/TheHSPlayer
Summary: “As per outstanding performance in battlefield and continuous ascending grading, the Council declares as follows: K-7 dimension pair, code name “Army of two” Rick Sanchez and Morty Smith, are designated to lead the mission” his Sergeant read, trying not to look up when he continued, by heart the memo “In the following order: Lieutenant Smith will be placed in the command control, followed by Second Sergeant Sanchez on immediate rank order.”
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Kudos: 8





	Prevention Measures

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about a year ago, or more. This fanfic is part of the "Army of two" saga, which you can find here:  
> https://anarchymorty.tumblr.com/post/178112127307/army-of-two-story-timeline
> 
> I am currently not writing about these guys, but I liked how this fanfic went, and I hope you enjoy it too.

For K-7 Morty, life ambitions matched the current status in his daily life. He was happy knowing all parameters were in the same position as the day before, as well as the day after. Despite any inconvenience coming from the missions, work related issues were not unexpected or unwelcomed. It was a low price to pay in exchange of a peaceful monotonous life that, funny enough, he had learnt was one of the things he could have in common interest with the Morty-kind. Knowing where to stand, where to go; it was priceless and knew all of that was thanks to his Sergeant making sure it stayed that way.

Changes had to be gradual to be accepted. Anything that extracted him from his routine had to pass through a process of bothersome, rationalization, acceptance and assimilation. Like Nurse Morty, or people telling him Merry Christmas, or Happy Birthday once a year.  
And each process had a time, which varied from element to element, depending on the impact of his weekly routine.

Rick knew this peculiarity of his Soldier, so that is why he did his best to shield him from new conundrums that arrived with surprising force, until Morty was ready to proceed with care on them. He also knew he was getting softer on the kid. Earth Dimension K-7 would never let him live that down, but still, freedom of being the rulers of 90% of their lives could come hand in hand with benefits like that. Which did not mean he would deny him the experiences, just cushion them a little, out of sheer love.

In knowledge of his privilege, Morty could tell a huge event was coming up, days before the official announcement. Sergeant had been asking him to perform a series of small quick-thinking tests that involve teamwork. But not the usual two-persons team work but proposed multi-task forces, and his own capabilities of finding solutions for more than two heads in a game. Training with friendly robots to lead and protect.

Morty hadn’t done anything remotely similar since they had left Earth, two years back. He was just a number among a chart of statistics, who by interdimensional lottery got to mean something unique which sometimes was still hard to completely grasp. An insistent feeling of uncomfortableness was pooling in his chest, but despite knowing he could simply ask his Rick what was the deal about, he refused to rush out an answer. Distressing from a task before it even started was a sign of weakness his Sergeant did not need by his side.  
Until the day of the briefing finally arrived, and it felt like a death sentence. No, worst; he felt like the very same day they were exiled from duty on Earth. The same amount of anxiety, impotence and fear. And was a shared sensation when his Sergeant cleared out his throat, pausing a Ball Fondlers’ marathon at home, once they had finished their mugs of cream coffee. Clearly a doomsday preparation. A last supper.

“Prepare for briefing, Soldier. All your attention on me”

“Sir, yes, sir”

“Due to an increasing number of incidents involving investigations on treason and occasional terrorist attacks on vital military cells across the multiverse Rick-kind, the Council supplies the means and permission for a series of missions catalogued as “prevention countermeasures” upon the Galactic Federation outposts.”

Morty understood what had happened out there. The Rick traitor, the mission which turned out to be fake; the Citadel had not been informed of it, but the Military higher ranks had been frantically looking for someone to blame, which lead to a series of encounters with strategically placed secret outposts which surprisingly had cloaking devices almost as good as five Mortys in a jumper cable. Those unpleasant surprises led to a proper witch hunt that left the entire city under the regime of rigorous interdimensional customs control, prevention alerts upon ex-convicts, and extensive background check on new pairs of Ricks and Mortys interested in starting their lives in a safer environment. Honestly, it did not feel safe at all.

“Such countermeasures include the creation of teams of highly trained cells of the Citadel, in which the Council includes one Lieutenant of Rank 2 or higher in command of the mothership, one Second Sergeant, and an assortment of Soldiers Ranks 3 to 5 under their orders.”

Motherships. Big boxes of metal with ridiculous pretentious names, intending to show the bigger dick, mind the French. The bigger the box, the longer the mission, and that was just elementary knowledge. Highly trained as he was, Morty limited himself to nod once, accepting his fate to be back on track being another number in a statistic chart for the sake of his new soil.

“As per outstanding performance in battlefield and continuous ascending grading, the Council declares as follows: K-7 dimension pair, code name “Army of two” Rick Sanchez and Morty Smith, are designated to lead the mission” his Sergeant read, trying not to look up when he continued, by heart the memo “In the following order: Lieutenant Smith will be placed in the command control, followed by Second Sergeant Sanchez on immediate rank order.”

“What?” was the high-pitched sound that came out of Morty’s mouth, and Rick found it so difficult not to smirk or laugh out loud at the reaction. Mostly because briefings are supposed to be ominous events, and because he could always trigger a counterproductive reaction on the younger man.

Therefore, he decided to leave the documents aside and stand up, first and foremost proud of what he would do next, which was saluting on a straight pose of intense military respect.

“Lieutenant Smith” he said simply, as recognition, not being able to hear the sound of Morty’s heart sinking, and crashing on the floor of his own insecurities, breaking in a thousand pieces of “what if”s.

\---

The clock ticked with one less hour to perform, out of the twelve they had, to prepare for the event, and Morty made a poor attempt to throw up for the fifth time that night. Thanks to the salary of the two, and after the attack from last month, they had afforded with no effort a sufficiently big, new apartment to have two bathrooms far from each other, enough to permit himself to have a proper, very Morty-like panic attack which would be the first one since their Earth exile.

Trembling like a leaf at mercy of a hurricane, Morty pressed his fingers hard on his arms. He had fucking done it. He had, unconsciously, put himself in the worst kind of situation, by just following orders. He had known he had his fair share of stupid, but he never thought the avoidance of thinking could lead to a necessity of doing so, to perform as per status quo. He had to stay on line, not too good, not too bad. Smart people did that. He had basked too much at the comfortableness of an unpardonable pride; being good at following orders eventually was the key to a rank ascension. Why had he forgotten that? It was as basic as loading a gun.

Clawing at his own mouth to muffle his harsh breathing, he pretended not to realize the proximity of known steps in his direction. Rick had a routine of grabbing a fresh glass of water each night at 4AM, which meant Morty had not slept for the past six hours, pretending to sustain a massive amount of concentration over the documents that his Sergeant did not decide to read in further detail as they corresponded to the Lieutenant in Command.

“Soldier” he heard on the other side, and his heart felt less like a cannonball and more like a beating organ. “Back to bed, it is an order. I can order you for the next six hours” he added, in case he had forgotten, and Morty did not forget, but he would have prefered to enjoy those six hours in the daylight, not at night when the time was not for them.

“Yes, sir!” was the response from inside, trying not to present a hoarse voice that came from forcing food he didn’t have out of his stomach in order to make proper space to the gigantic ball of anxiety he had to hold somewhere.

Giving it a last try, once Rick was far from a hearing rank, Morty tried to expel the last of his weakness. His Sergeant had given him a mission, and as usual, an error was not an option, let alone when the reputation of his division fell in his young, naive, stupid shoulders. It only took one mistake to disappoint the preparation of his Sergeant and jeopardize the life of his soldier assortment. It only took one error to demonstrate he was not special, just a Morty in a chart of generic silly creatures who just served as human cloaking devices.

\---

He counted to three in backwards before the alarm went off, but different from other times in which he had jumped out of bed in mission day, he turned off the apparatus and closed his eyes, focusing on the groaning behind his back, and the last seconds of the arm around his waist, that separated too fast for his taste, after a few tugs on his shirt to make sure he was awake. He had to pretend to react only when he heard a doubting sound to make sure Rick knew, he had a hard time waking up, like he had not been looking out of the window, wishing a terrorist attack had subdued the Citadel and everything was back to normal if for a few more days.

“Lieu-”

“Two more hours, Sir” Morty cut the greeting before it rooted in his mind, making it sound like an entertained scolding that provoked the most early laugh he had heard in his Sergeant in the five years they had known each other.

“Very well. Soldier.” Rick greeted, receiving an all familiar salute from the younger man.

“Sir, good morning. Proceeding with breakfast preparations”

“Twenty minutes”

“Yes, sir”

Why was he so hurried? Morty wondered, keeping the generic half smile, while walking down the hallway like it was another Tuesday. Why was Rick so… excited? Wasn’t he terribly offended he had not been chosen to be the Lieutenant? Wasn’t he going to argue at all with the stupid ass decision of the Council? Because it was a stupid ass decision. That clearly showed a bad grasping of the concept of seniority and militia, because no one in their right fucking state of mind would have made a Specialist Soldier jump five ranks up, just because of a goddamn set of tests. It was elementary school, along with wiping your ass and saluting a high rank with the right hand. You just did not do that.

The fact that he took twenty-five minutes out of the direct order of his Sergeant, was a complete coincidence due to the fact of not finding the jar of coffee in the usual place, or that was what he told himself, along with several Freudian mistakes that pretended to conclude in a proper scolding of his Sergeant. A total damnation of the day, a repetitive program of proper punishment and training which would make absolutely impossible to forward with the mission, since the very same Lieutenant was a goddamn fool who could not prepare toasts and coffee in one-thousand-two-hundred seconds. Disgraceful.

“That smells good” Rick said, not giving a single damn about the time, because he was in an extremely good mood to stick to the old silly rules of the house, and he was more accepting about the switching of roles than Morty was.

Accompanied to that, there was a moment of peace when he felt his strong arms holding the pieces of his morale together in a hug, and Morty counted the seconds wishing they could slow down for an eternity each, as he had an idea that could make the mission work. But for that to be possible, he had to take decisions he already regretted hours ago with the first load of food discharged down the toilet.

“Thank you, sir” Fuck, such a good word, he had never exploited it properly. Sir. Sergeant, Commander, such good synonyms of the only variable that never had to change in his life, and he had given for granted. If he made it in one emotional piece, he would treasure the normality, cherish it with all his might, just as he did his real name.

Disappointment and despair populated his heart like the rain winning a match against a poorly sustained tree branch. His mind subdued to the insecurity the moment Rick took his plate of toasts, the mug of coffee and sat on his usual spot to read the newspaper with a disinterested expression.

Swallowing the lump of bitter bile that lingered in his throat, he joined the man into silent appreciation for the meal. Slurping, and the occasional crunching of paper was the only communication in the large space of nothingness that pretended to pass for normality, and it was driving Morty insane. Noise, he needed more noise.

Rick’s unibrow half raised at the sudden liveness of the TV so early morning. But when he saw in Soldier’s direction, he found such intense concentration on the explanation presented on screen, that he could not find himself with words to deny the peculiar wish. It was a peculiar day after all.

The noise also cancelled the soft whimper Morty did when he bit his tongue too hard. He had turned on the TV before 5PM. Wasn’t that deserving of at least a proper scolding? He was not even looking at a regular show! It was a stupid thing of… corn people shooting at each other and making bad puns. Rick hated trash interdimensional TV, why was he not saying anything?

“Sold-”

“Yes sir” cutting to the chase, Morty could not waste any time of the valuable coherent natural order of things, if he could properly exercise the last straws of his lower position to his Sergeant.

This, of course, meant for Rick that Morty was so excited for his new task, he surely wanted to get ready. Well, he could allow it.

“Go shower and open the box located on the table, in the trophy room. Your new uniform is there”

Why the fuck would he want to ruin the memories of their sacred trophy room with opening a box that carried all that was wrong in the multiverse?

“Yes, sir” he lied. Lied like a criminal, because there was no force anywhere that would make him ruin the ominous respect their preys had to pay to him, mocking the formation that allowed their many faces to ornament the walls. He wasn’t even there, and he could feel the judgement under his flesh. The “you are not enough” of those inferior creatures that would tell the truth for him; he would have never captured them without the strong leadership of his Rick.

Baths were not an optional dragging. The water system allowed only seven minutes of cleansing which he had to use smartly. He would have given the other leg for another minute.  
The uniform was ugly. It was white, pristine, impractical. It had no pockets, no hidden layers to save weapons, and it carried a disgustingly flamboyant golden wing-like bullshit around the neck. It was not made to fight, or run, or stand for extended amounts of time. It was made to sit still in a cockpit, looking at the vacuum of space and judging all his life choices while deciding who lived and who died if he happened to encounter a complicated situation.

And it had a fucking matching beret.

Tugging at the collar, he wondered why the need of having such a scandalous outfit, but the anguish could not last for too much longer. Rick was clicking close his kevlar, adjusting the medipack on his left side of the holster and revising for exactly two minutes that everything was in place. He knew all those noises by heart, for so much time memorizing the routine, he lamented every second he was not there to adjust the backpack just a few inches just to touch him inconspicuously.

He extracted his body out of the room, trying not to look like asking permission to a leg before using it, until he met face to face with his Serge-

“Lieutenant” was the greeting he met, when Rick saluted back to him, and then pointed at the clock with his eyes. Three seconds passed since he was the superior rank.

There was nothing but an infinite black hole of uncertain and heavy sorrow when his body entered autopilot and eased down his arm to the side, because Lieutenants did not salute.

“...soldier” he replied back, and Rick smiled. Honest to god, that man was proud of him, for some incomprehensive reason.

And as usual, Morty wanted nothing more than to make him the proudest man in the  
multiverse.

\---

Turns out, Lieutenants were not allowed to travel in personal ships, but had their own Militia cars, driven by a chauffeur, with fancy ambient music and original leather seats all around him, instead of the old artificial chaffed leather of their small war tank. Their dear, scarred ship which met many battles, and not this new smelly car which probably could not hold more than a few bullets on the hull.

Although he had to admit, if it weren’t because of the title, Rick would have not been allowed to travel alongside him, but by himself, in a separate vehicle. He was proud to know his first successful order was to let his Sergeant get his place where it belonged, by his side. “He is my Rick” he had said, with a stern tone of voice, that he had heard the older man use when he wanted to demand something with authority. And it felt so wrong. Rick was not his; he was Rick’s.

\---  
Think, think, think, what was the image he wanted to project to the rest? What was the kind of Lieutenant they were expecting? What sort of leadership would be suitable for a bunch of himselves and Ricks?

In his years under the command of all sorts of teachers and other Sergeants on Earth, he had known different command styles. You had the distant, seemingly aggressive one; you had the teamwork type of management, the “all soldiers are replaceable ants” type of philosophy, and maybe you could also count the “Summer style of commanding”. Implying a bunch of derogatory terms and passive aggressive shading that could leave you wondering if that was an insult or a compliment, or both.

He had to be smart; the lives of a group depended on him, and so, there had to be a proper analysis of the terrain before concluding with a strategy. Like sniping. He was good at it, so he had to find some sort of parallel with the current situation he was in.

All the way to the briefing room, postures were raising, and hands were saluting on a disgusting parade of wrong. The same men who would stop him midway to casually talk to him at any other time were now presenting respects for his uniform, looking up like honestly buying the image of the untouchable commander he pretended to be. Even the newly formed SEAL team Rick reacted like they were tased in the ass by the stupid shiny insignia in his chest.

Morty forced himself to look at the front, with a disinterested expression, nodding here and there. Yes, I completely and positively know what I am doing. I am not nauseous. I am in control of my own fucking bladder like a normal person would do.

When he realized he was at the front of the conference room, his breath and pulse went up for a few seconds, upon realizing he was alone, facing an eyeball recognizing software, prepared to receive his presence, in an area that was not allowing soldiers or sergeants, but Lieutenants and armada Commanders. Rick had stayed behind at some point and had accepted it with all naturality instead of trying somehow to make noticeable the fact that they were following opposite directions. It had to happen sooner or later, but… not so soon!

His body moved, as it always did, to avoid embarrassment and shameful stuttering. Placing himself on the tip of his toes, he also realized that the briefing room was not made for Mortys. Of any age.

Swishing open, there had not been a single second in which he could mentally prepare for the vision in front of him.

All around a holo-table, at least nine Ricks were sitting and chatting with glasses of liquor on their hands. All of them in uniform, all of them properly trained for their own purpose, which was to hold accountability of their decisions for the sake of the Citadel.

Each and every single one of those Ricks channeling a Matrix effect when they turned around to see him show up by the door. He could hear a too strong slurping, or maybe a snorting in which he tried not to think about, with all his strength.

It was hard not to salute; a quick check on the insignias and stars demonstrated to him that all of them were the same kind of rank officers, but still, he moved cautiously, like the most mentally insane prey entering the wolf’s den by his own choice. He had to remember; these men were predators, any sign of weakness would mean the downfall of the mission, the disappointment of his Sergeant, and the laugh stock of the whole Citadel militia. Once again being the pariah, the shameful.

He approached the only available chair, and removed his hat as protocol demanded, nodding a short time at the rest of the Ricks who seemed to notice too hard on his shaved head not quite finding his place on the seat cushion as he was a few inches below the Rick standard measure.

There was a folder in front of him, most likely more detailed information of the originally received at home. Unable to hold the eyes of the rest of the presents, he opened the pages to revise the text, trying to memorize it as best as he could. No one else was doing anything remotely similar, and Morty immediately thought it was because all of them had learnt it the first five minutes from arriving. He couldn’t be stupid and fall behind schedule for a single second. Many lives depended on it.

The conversation around him resumed as if nothing had happened but a stream of air by the door, and Morty was thankful for it. He could concentrate on the blueprints of the ship he was designated to: “Sulaco”, a hunting spaceship, a little old fashioned, but he had been prepared to be handing out old technology just because. He had a crew of two cooks, two technicians, one medic, two pilots and two gunners, along with a small assortment of 20 soldiers (14 Mortys, 6 Ricks) which would be under the leadership of his own Sergeant who would do the dirty job with them.

Each Lieutenant had received a quadrant of the universe to investigate. The idea was to disarm outposts by themselves, but they could use the help of the closest spaceship if they had to engage in larger combats. War was not recommended; they had to reckon, decide over their capabilities, and if the numbers were in their favor, engage. With a few dozen of their locations locked out of the map, they could drop enemy morale, and leave a warning to whoever was threatening the secret of their Citadel.

A long hum of machines turning on was heard, and the holo-table went to life, before listening steps approaching the table. Immediately he stood up and saluted, before the rest of the Ricks remembered to do the same. That gave him the idea that those men were perhaps like himself; lower ranks or inexperienced with protocols. Morty was followed by heart old school books.

“At ease” Commander in Chief Rick I-097 called, and Morty sat back, being followed closely by the rest of the Lieutenants. There was no interest for the newcomer to look at him precisely, but he did look for a few seconds at the ones who still had their beret on and removed it swiftly.

“All of you are here because you stood up by some characteristic of your militia history, because you have been recommended by a higher rank, or just because the testing was above the standard. The most important reason is that we are understaffed, but not because of this we are expecting less of you. This is the moment we need your Rick wits…” he looked at K-7 “...your Ricks and Mortys wits and ingenious strategies to overcome the enemy. Now, let’s start with the briefing. I assume all of you have read the folder.”

There was some nonchalant nodding of some, but others were looking at it at that same moment. On one hand, Morty was relieved it would probably take some time before they could all catch up, besides the fact of knowing Ricks were not as prepared as he thought they would be.

On the other hand, he could already hear the mocking under the table, the insecurities catching up with progressive force upon his head, like a shadow of his worst errors transmuting into the new possible disasters menacing his reason.

\---

Not far, in another room with less security, K-7 Rick sat in what seemed a glorified office with a bunch of others of his own kind. If there was a noticeable lack of discipline in the higher ranks, it was worse on the lowers, which simply were extremely relaxed on the fact that the tough decisions would come from above, and their heads wouldn’t roll if there was a problem compromising the missions. It made him feel disgusted.

“Oh, here he is! That’s him!” There were some cheerful comments to one another once he sat in the only place available, which was an easily noticeable corner. Specifically prepared to make an interrogation. Rick could know what was about before they even opened their mouths.

“K-7, we’ve heard tons of things about you” A Rick with a buzzcut mentioned, bending over the table to better hear the conversation.

“No. You have heard tons of things about my team” K-7 corrected, unresponsive faced as usual, as he had no interest in sustaining a conversation with a bunch of amateurs.

“True, but we had heard at least one thing of you”

Snorting and laughing ensued, and Rick invoked the most valuable asset of Morty: his patience. He had to remember how his soldier had endured the worst in each visit to the building, and how that same rank made it impossible for him to defend himself. In any other event, he would have easily broken a few pointy noses to ensure the proper respect presented to his team and what they stood for. But now that he was surrounded by nine other Sergeants like him, not only a fistfight could end badly, but also jeopardize his participation on the mission, which was not an option to fulfill or not.

“You seriously commended your Morty to be a ship commander?” buzzcut Rick cackled, with gigantic eyes full of amusement and not a single inch of positive admiration.

“A Morty commander. Jeez, talk about suicidal tendencies” another voice sounded from the back, but he couldn’t see the Rick from which it came from. “No joke, if you wanted to die a horrible death, you could just grab your portal gun and enter the blender dimension, you know?”

More laughing, and jokes continued. Rick’s mind was far from there, but with one foot enough to memorize characteristics to place them on his blacklist once they returned back from the mission, and everything went back to normal. He had seen none of them in the usual meetings of superior ranks, so it was absolutely assured that the broken noses of those assholes would not even stain his disciplinary report. It would not even be cruelty from his side, for the sake of education.

Soon, the noises became incomprehensive enough for him to focus on what was important: Morty’s opportunity to stand out from the crowd. His golden ticket to the respect he deserved and wanted. Oh, Rick knew his little insecure soldier could use a morale boost from time to time and not fall behind on the disgusting lie that a cocky Morty was a dangerous concept. K-7 did not believe that for a single moment.

In that sense, the Citadel and their people reminded him of the history lessons he had in his youth at K-7’s elementary school. When they talked about an old Earth at the edge of extinction due to chaotic politics, delimited borders, capitalism, inside wars… where the sex and identity segregation was an actual coherent social problem. Take all that and pour it in a two-character society. Ricks, despite their economic and social status, received more respect by default than a Morty who had all the capabilities to be an outstanding part of the development of the presumed most advanced society in every conceivable universe. Mortys (his own, for example) received 30% less of the salary of a Rick under the same position. And everyone hid behind the “cloaking device” argument. Like it was a serious matter. Like showing up the slightest amount of concern and attachment could be lethal.

K-7 could not lie to himself about it and was not intending to; if he ever lost his Morty, there was no possibility of him to resume a regular life under any circumstances. There would be no future, no ambitions, and certainly no light that could drag him out of the pool of despair he would experience.

At the same time, he was widely aware that such attachment could be fatal for the development of a warrior. Morty had to learn, had to go out, do his best, do his worst, rinse and repeat. How could Rick protect him, if he shielded him from the world? It could be so easy to drag him along repetitive missions, comforting him in the security of a routine that would convince him that such a thing was what he wanted. But if he didn’t spread his wings and looked beyond, how could he really know he was enjoying his fullest of the options he had?  
It was obvious, then, why he had done it. The million-dollar question had the most evident response any man who actually cared for his partner would do: I did it because I love him. No more, no less. And for the looks of it, had been a good call, given that Morty had been so enthusiastic about it all morning.

“K-7… K-7! Are you gonna answer or not??”

Rick seemed to abandon his intrusive thoughts, and blinked a few times, turning back to the group that seemed to have dried up their supplies of improvisational jokes and mockery.

“Answer what?”

“Why did you commend your Morty to be a lieutenant, you ding-dong?”

“Obviously because he’s more than capable to do it”

If there was any more banter, he could not process it. Nothing he would say would be able to sneak into their thick skulls full of the over inflated ego that clouded the basic concept advanced cultures could manage to invoke without effort whatsoever: the only way a society could grow, was with the collective help of each component looking at the same direction. It took an intergalactic war for K-7 Earth to become a unified force to be reckoned with. What would take for the Citadel to reach the same conclusion?

Morty would succeed, not because Rick wanted to, but because he was ready with the tools and the compassion necessary to have people under his wing. His bravado and abilities would be set free, and once he could manage to find a pace, mixing it with his notable humility, there would be no doubts he would have made the most accurate decision in his life. And he would be there to see it with his own eyes.

If there could be also any selfish reasons behind himself, he had to admit, it would be kind of sexy to fuck a lieutenant, given the chance.

\---

It was a long, dragging two hours of briefing, with similar results. The pair of K-7s were perhaps too used to the familiarity of technical concepts, so hearing que exchange of questions and answers from the other lieutenants and the Chief Commander had been definitely more boring than waiting two hours under the foliage of mission WW9F6YT4 waiting for the target to show up. At least he had the ability to use a gun at that time, and the occasional hand of his Sergeant brushing his hand to pass him some snacks.

Sergeant… What could he possibly be doing at this moment? He couldn’t shoo away half of his thoughts dedicated to him solely. It was beyond uncomfortable not knowing what he was doing, not seeing his face, not being able to occasionally text him or revise his location with the GPS, and smile at the red dot that never got too far away from his own green dot. All because the stupid uniform didn’t have a proper pocket to discreetly revise from time to time. Also because it would be immediately seen as a regular Morty activity, trying to escape by any means possible from the responsibility given to him. He was under the impression everyone was keeping an eye on him for a doubtful, boresome, or annoyed expression from his side to remark it to the authorities, which also did not seem very trustful of including him, instead of just calling K-7 Rick to supplant him, ending the charade.

“I’ll trust all of you to know what your objectives are,” Commander in Chief said to him, but not looking at him directly. Most likely as it was the latest fashion to intend to use “Morty inclusive language” by addressing the whole population with “you”. What a load of bullshit.

He saluted one more time when the image vanished, and grabbed the detachable report information of relevance to him, before putting on the beret, and retire without looking back,

“Tsk. Take a load of that cocky Morty.”

“I feel sorry for the crew”

The moment he could leave the premises of the lieutenant headquarters, he rushed into a bathroom, and bit into his gloved hand until bleeding.

\---

War was situational; every event was unique and if could be remotely similar to an experience you have known before, you had to consider yourself lucky, because you had half of the work sort of figured it out, but not quite. The other half was weighing the percentages of deceiving versus success.

That was why, traditionally, wars were also won by charismatic leaders who could focus the interest of the soldiers in a common objective. Leaders who owned the world, starting by their own minds. Thus, was the conundrum of Morty who had none of both.

But, to be fair, Earth K-7 did not precisely win sympathy out of the military propaganda after the first 120 years of society modification in the early 21st century. People were more impressionable and easier to control under distress with the simulation of normality in color TV, until the second generations of child soldiers started to outnumber the dying Millennials. They grew under the podcasts of doomsday alarms and were less attentive to colorful distractions once humanity embraced the natural impulse to fulfill their aggressive impulses of conquest and warfare.

So Morty, who was an eight-generation Colonist, rarely had encountered a superior who did not look absolutely un-impressed at all times. So, on one side he was quite relieved that he didn’t have to be the chatty enthusiast inspirational warrior to be heard, but still, he had no confidence in himself, and only 200 feet of distance from the Sulaco to solve it.

He could see the figures around the entrance slide of the ship, during his parade passing by all the rest of the spacecrafts full of crews with a superior amount of Ricks than he had. Except the rest of the lieutenants, everyone saluted as corresponded, but Morty forced himself to look up front to his own team, as if he couldn’t hear the whispering (real or not) from his surroundings.

He did notice a peculiarity on the formation and was precisely that: all of them were formed into orderly lines, crew and soldiers, who saluted in a firm pose like they actually respected him. Such was the honest impression they could cause on Morty who downgraded his persona to present the same amount of recognition upon returning the gesture.

It seemed like the right move, when he saw his mainly Morty crew beam for the shortest time, and he imagined his own face doing the same the first time his Sergeant agreed to accept him by his side. Elation, relief, wonder.

“At ease. Your voluntary participation is vital to this event and for such a reason, I commit to the safety and success of the missions assigned every step of the way. Transparency and teamwork are my only requirements and I expect the same from you. Questions are valid, but doubt is forbidden. Proceed to enter the ship”

From Summer, he had learnt personally he preferred when their commander was at the back of the team, protecting the weak point, and for the same reason, he waited until the formation was all in, to follow shortly behind, trying to ignore with all his strength the proud look in Rick’s eyes.

“Sir?” he could hear an echo of his own voice, before turning to one of the ship technicians who was clearly expecting him to deviate his way for a private talk.

Once all the rest of the crew was taking positions, he approached his kin, and nodded to allow him to proceed after a grateful salute.

“Sir, I think it’s fair for you to know… I’m not a g-graduated technician. N-neither is the other one. We were the only ones left, and we learnt from our Ricks who are the real ones. We can… manage. But I think they sent us to this mission just to, just to…”

Dispose them.

Of course.

“To prove your worth, L-320” Morty interrupted the stuttering of the young man in front of him, apparently taken aback by the fact that he had learnt his earth dimension beforehand “You were commended by your Rick who you have spent years with before considering you were ideal for this mission. Most likely because the technology is easier to manage than the current one.”

Lieutenant Smith wished, for a single moment, to honestly apply that logic to himself, but the conditions were wildly different, and still the reasons for his own commendation were a mystery he had preferred he was asked before being forced to agree on them.

“Communicate with your Rick. If you honestly require it, I will find a replacement before we depart. If you’re moving with us as a cell, I need you here, with all of us. Two hours.”

After the ultimatum, he briefly patted his shoulder and left, unable to provide a new set of words that could bring relief to his distressed crew member. He was so bad at it, after a few steps he felt like reconsidering his words and amend himself… but no. A leader had to stand his own ground. He would become what he must, or he wouldn’t become anything at all.

“Sir?” he heard back, steps away from the rest of the challenge. So he turned around to see once again his other version, so expressive and honest, he envied his capacity to demonstrate so much with a smile.

“Yes, L-320?”

“I’ll… I’ll stay here, Sir. Thank you.”

His first impulse was to ask if he was sure of that. If he honestly did not want to call his Rick to be frank about the situation and get some comfort of the person he had spent so much time with before they even got to meet each other. But there were looks that did not need to be questioned, as they spoke by themselves. Another thing he didn’t have in common with his kin. Why couldn’t he feel the same reassurance to be sincere about his own feelings when he was with his Sergeant.

“Good. Proceed to the briefing room.”

Would perhaps deviating from the spa compounds be a risky move? If he could only detoxify from his insecurities once more, perhaps there would be a way to keep those people safe. His healthy self had been more proactive and efficient than any of his best moments combined, and weren’t because that healthy character was completely asexual, maybe he had never fused once more. The mere, painful idea of being away from Rick in the physical and emotional level was the final reason why he had preferred to return back to his unhealthy self, upon realizing the efficient, confident killing machine he always wanted to be, would eventually tire himself to death just for the sake of professionalism.

“I want you complete” Rick had said that time, when they were battling for freedom in the detoxifying tank, stirring the wholeness of his heart, followed by a disarming kiss that blew his mind to the sweet nothingness that a normal healthy person had to feel. Rick loved him best when he was complete. And complete is what he had promised himself to be.

However, when he saw the holo-table on the ship surrounded by a bunch of strange people near his Sergeant, his Rick, he doubted for the most brief time if the detoxifying machine was really the only way he could end up losing a part of himself.

“At ease. Sergeant, open the quadrant map” he instructed Rick, watching him one last time for reassurance. Please, please let me know if this bothers you. Please, tell me this is wrong. Please.

“Yes, sir”

Please.

\---

Surprisingly enough, his team was rather well prepared. They had all read their briefing, even the cooks, and the meeting had been more satisfactory and shorter than expected. The soldiers would train with Rick two times a day for a span of a week before arriving at the first destination two days after that. Everyone had a carefully prepared schedule, their security measures were properly revised, and they seemed quite confident about them. It made sense to the Ricks present, which was enough for him afterwards.

The commanding cockpit was smaller than expected. His area was mostly a table, with a very few sets of controls in emergency situations, but clearly had a cup holder, a sound system, and lacked cameras. Probably because captains slept there when pretending to do their work.

His job was to sit there, and watch the infinity of space around him, nod a few times in silent agreement if the holo-map was in the right location, and walk around every three hours or so, to make sure to nod even more when he heard parameters were in order. He couldn’t train, he couldn't watch television - correction: he could, but he didn’t want to. He just had to stay there and expect the situations anyone brought to him had already appeared in his mental scenarios he surely would have time to imagine, over and over for days to no end.

Silence again. The ship was old, but not old enough to hear cranking or screeching of metal. the commander’s hiding spot was a deadly silent place, made for concentration, or psychological meltdown in the comfortable privacy of six inches of solid stainless steel.

From Nurse Morty he had heard a story; turns out, most Mortys in the Central Finite Curve shared some experiences when they got to spend time with their Ricks from ages 14 to 19. There were some very common, like the toxic version of themselves, or the “Fart” genocide adventure. Situations with actual generic names that made everyone around them say “Yes, it happened to me” or “I heard it was so fun!” along with variations from person to person.

His friend had narrated him about the Vindicators Adventure, which was quite the epitome of Morty intelligence, when each of them got to explain how they could save the day by remaining peaceful in a hostile environment created by the passed out drunk version of their grandparents. One of those challenges provoked Vance Maximus - defender of the universe - to have an anxiety attack and eventual death for his own claustrophobia.

In his old Earth dimension, the world peace achieved also meant some old customs were regained; seniority and rank ascension also meant the elder trespassed knowledge to the younger which would become part of the construction of the wisdom that would remain for generations after. Thus, all stories received from any knowledgeable source had to be treated with the utmost respect and assimilation if there was any portion that could serve as a lesson. For Morty, those lessons were not to be like the Vindicators’ real persona. Not to succumb to desperation and insecurity. Be like Nurse Morty, be like all the Mortys who made it through.  
That meant, no meltdowns due to silence and claustrophobia.

His only hope was the real job commencing when they got to the first locations of the outposts. The recon bots would scan the locations and he would have to come up with a plan that could successfully manage all the difficulties that could show up. Transparency meant a full disclaimer of discussing the plans, and rewriting as many times as needed until he got it right. But also, the idea was to avoid doing so, in order to supply the very much needed image of a trustworthy leader.

Just seconds away from the resolution of going to the machines room to hear the noise of the boilers, there was a light above the steel door, which meant someone was outside, asking permission to enter.

The whole crew was widely aware that the lieutenant’s office was off limits, except for the second in command, who had permission to summon his presence or receive a private briefing. The mere idea made his heart jump in his place, and feel a faint sense of hope, and comfort. Sergeant. his Sergeant.

The decompression announced the entrance, and his smell lingered the air a few seconds before his approaching. Perfume was not necessary when gunpowder couldn’t leave your fingers, but that was exactly what Morty needed at that moment. The only perk of being in such a close space, was to be able to concentrate the smell for hours, which would be the perfect company for his very much needed reassurance.

He could almost savor the moment Rick took to realize there were no cameras in that place, before advancing to his seat, and wrap his strong arms around him, removing the wing-like element from his uniform. Luckily it was detachable, or he would have been in trouble to come out, since he didn’t really care one bit if he had to rip it off his clothes.

“Sir” Morty called, touching his hands, caressing his scars, and the eternal bruise he presented in the thumb of his right hand from cocking back old shotguns and crushing his finger with the chamber during reloads.

“That should be my line, lieutenant” he could feel the smile in his voice, near his ear, and the younger man sighed with a deep, intense amount of unprecedented love that could come from a funny scolding, because they both knew that Rick was aware of customs too strongly attached on Morty’s memory to get bothered by that.

Neither of them decided to spend more time exchanging futile words, before engaging on a deep, scorching hot kiss, and wrapping their arms around each other like they hadn’t seen for years. It was correct, the only thing correct in the multiverse, and he saw himself in the peace of his own house, sat on the couch after a successful day, enjoying his well-deserved rest with Rick. It was that kind of kiss; the kiss of a sworn clash of emotions that would meet and assimilate one another until they were nothing but one person; one heart beating at their own unique pace that would finally make sense for both of them and no one else.

When they separated their eyes conversed. Exchanged “I am so proud of you” and “I am happy because you are”. It was sincere, long back and forth when Morty missed him again, and pulled him down for a new kiss that had to last until the next time they could do that. Their bedrooms were in separate areas, and he wasn’t sure if they could join during resting hours. Another reason to dread the mission.

But as it happened with beautiful moments, one had to be ready to see them leave. Like Morty, when he sighed, with a deep unhappiness he vainly tried to cover, upon the end of the kiss. He did permit himself to enjoy the brief satisfaction of watching the delicate yet filthy saliva connection among the two of them break free.

There was a brief moment in which they observed each other, and Morty half smiled, like saying “it was nice while it lasted”, but Rick felt no need to agree with the feeling.

“I’ll go to your room” he promised, and as it was the usual, seemed to be the right set of words, as he could almost clearly hear the flutter on Morty’s heart, right before a mature nod, desperately trying to pass as calm. That kid was so fucking cute.

The official reason for Rick to be there was to deliver some pre-mission reports, which he properly did, once they got control of their own need to jump on each other against the control panel of the cockpit. They let the moment linger, anyway, brushing hands when pointing out at specific points of the document and exchanging looks full of promises, like they never did before. Rick was specially touch starved, and it was a wonderful discovery to know it wasn’t only him constantly missing the contact. More precisely when they couldn’t get it easily.

“Work hard, sir” Rick greeted goodbye, leaving a huff of air fall on his nape, and making all the hair in his body to raise, in a strong wave of lust. That man could have asked him to leave the whole universe in an escape pod with that same tone of voice, and there would be no regrets on his side, like it never was, on related matters to K-7 Rick Sanchez.

\---

Turns out the reports were of interest, so Morty could focus on something that was not his dick for a few hours. The format was no different from the usual briefing Rick brought home to revise before a regular mission, so he could understand the components. Some more detailed analysis revealed the terms used were also quite known, so basically as long as everything continued the same, he could trace a decent plan of action upon arrival at the first planet.

Revising the screens, he saw it was already five hours since they had left the planet, and two since the group must have had dinner; there was no night or day in space, but he could figure out everyone could use some brief hyper sleep before starting training with Rick, as he knew first hand that he would not be a merciful man; which didn’t stop the thought that rushed through his mind: “Lucky bastards”. He could not train along with Rick whatsoever. He just had to… sit there and wait for the best.

Making his way out of the office, he received a protocolary salute from the pilots, and he nodded in exchange.

“Take turns to revise lectures and leave the autopilot on. Invisibility shields up. I want you both to have some rest”

“Yes, sir”

“M.O.T.H.E.R, set instructions to be sent to staff: mandatory rest in hyper sleep for eight hours starting as soon as they are all in. Exception for commander, technicians, pilots and sub command” he ordered the artificial intelligence of the ship.

“Sending” the voice of the machine replied, in a process that took less than a minute “Affirmative response received from staff. Proceeding to prepare short hypersleep”

As captain, he had to be the first one waking up and the last one going to bed, so he used the time alone to feed on some sandwich he found on a dispenser on a hallway, and observed the endless space in silence, until the little dots indicating lights on around the ship disappeared, leaving only the mandatory ones.

“I’ll be resting” a pilot nearby was informed “Use the emergency line of my quarters if you need anything”

“Yes, sir. Good night, sir”

The ugly sensation pooling on his stomach didn’t subdued at the overuse of the title; he might never be used to someone else calling him “sir” and wasn’t in his plans to permit it. If he could only get an opportunity to discuss with Rick about it, surely could make him understand, without disappointing him, that the old formation was beyond perfect for him; he didn’t need any lieutenant title to feel accomplished.

But not now. Rick was happy, noticeably happy. Who was him to deny him that precious feeling?

\--

In their numerous missions, Morty had slept in pretty fucked up places; rooftops, noisy helicopters, shipping boxes, and even a barn, close to animals, and enjoying the company of Rick on a floor full of straw, with an awful smell of doubtful alien material. All of them have fond memories to enjoy, despite waking up with back pain for awkward positions or barely with a few minutes of rest from the constant change of shift that a party of two had to sustain to keep themselves alive.

Also, was valid to mention, he rarely had any attachment to material stuff. Weapons could be replaced, furniture could be bought again, and he held no preference on attire. If a vest was damaged, Rick replaced it, simple as that. Exceptions to the rule were their trophies, but even those creatures could be hunted once more.

So, he was fully aware that missing his bed on the Citadel was an utter stupidity. Missing the black sheets, the hard pillows and the squeak of the wood was just ridiculous; but when he saw the unnecessary elegant bed on his quarters, occupying a generous amount of space, he couldn’t help but dread the linens, wonder why the fuck one person would need six pillows, and making a bet with himself that the mattress should be filled up with feathers or some shit like that.

He knew he was missing Rick. Only Rick could make that horribly pompous disaster of a bed a proper place to sleep. His loud snoring would accompany him, reminding him of the thunder of war tanks sliding to battle. It would remind him of the far away melody of semi-auto guns being fired in rapid succession one after another. It would remind him of dying creatures groaning and trying to find purchase for their lives. All because silence was dreadful, and no one else but them could understand it.

The promise of his arrival did not raise too much hope on Morty. It wouldn’t be easy, he knew, but still, he decided to do the proper, and wash himself to the last corner, and wait in bed, undressed, just for a few minutes, until he could convince himself he wasn’t going to come.

But still, he waited, observing at the window, the expanse of the universe; uncountable billions of stars that reminded him so much to Nuptia 5, the brief retirement they enjoyed, proud of themselves for being able to participate in a “normal” couples activity. Normal under Nurse Morty’s standards. Someday he had to remember to take him to K-7 so he could take a look of their own normality. To be a planet full of shit in which they were rejected, at least he understood the reasons. Just as he understood many other things.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft ping on the door, and immediately the image of his Sergeant standing outside was seen. Still dressed in light gear, waiting for confirmation that arrived in a blink of an eye, and made him smile, before the holographic image disappeared to give space to the real deal; jagged and satisfied, promising a thousand pleasures, starting with his presence.

They both looked at each other, and Rick circled the bed with the same care he had when they wanted to sneak upon enemies. Mastering stealth was vital in primary training; being able to conceal the sound of guns and mags clinking to each other, while using heavy boots and an exoskeleton was not easy at first. Then, it became a second nature, a constant warning, and it made the difference between a good soldier and a pariah.

Finding one another in a common point was just natural. Morty approached the center of the bed and sat in front of him, attentively watching his tall figure towering his own body. Armed and ready, the fatale assassin look could always stir him inside out, and it was a mutual feeling, diametrically opposite; Rick enjoyed having a naked prey, lusting over him. He thought that Morty’s youth and vitality was extremely refreshing.

“Wait” Morty called, right before he could feel all the weight of Rick’s body launching on top of him. No, this time, he wanted something else, and it was clear, when he pointed at the clothes with his eyes, begging to extend the point in common to meet with his Sergeant. “As… as usual” he added softly.

“As usual” the older man echoed, and limited himself to peck the clean forehead, before finding all his buckles and zips to undo the attire and mimic all the other occasions at home when they both commenced on the same conditions.

Morty had seen Ricks half naked at the hospital, during treatments. They were all lanky and the ribs were marked; the hips poked out prominently, and most of the time there was a slight beer tum. Up until now he had never seen a body quite like his own: stretched skin, defined muscles, firm abs… all of that not losing the Rick essence; ashy skin and long, sharp shapes. It was a delight to observe, and Morty had accepted his sweet tooth long ago to feel guilty about enjoying this eye candy.

He smiled when he got what he wanted, the whole extent of Rick’s figure, half hard and as needy as himself. Hunger appropriated his mind, the command of his libido taking any other thoughts away, launching them out of the window to the infinity of the universe.

There was a single, special second they took to admire each other before Rick felt on top of him, dragging his body under his own, skin against skin, cold for a brief second, before warming up, putting molten steel to shame.

There was a gasp that sounded like Rick’s name, from an overly sensitive, full of desire young man. It usually took longer to drag a moan out of his lips, but seemed like that day everything was too overwhelming to bear, since his Sergeant could get a pitiful whine from dragging his nails on his back, drawing wings in angry pink when he brought him closer.

Rick’s breath pitched up when the smaller hands of his soldier travelled greedily all along his ribs, interrupting themselves on touching old scars and figuring out muscles, reverently as he always did. Sex with Morty was flattering, thankful, blissful and fucking mind-blowing. Destroying and recomposing that kid’s reasoning was the whole point of dedicating himself to his pleasure, which was an entertaining activity he could never get tired of.

But for that to be possible, he had to extend the moment as much as he could; bring him on edge over and over until he could get to that magnificent point, which was his favorite of all night. Morty could be stubborn when he noticed that Rick was not receiving fair treat, and after a higher score of orgasms, the poor kid did his damn best to bring him to equal satisfaction. Overstimulated and unable to control the trembling of his hands, he had never realized that Rick’s most intense pleasure and satisfaction came from provoking those cute reactions on the soldier. 

They distracted each other with a kiss; better said, they distracted each other trying to fuse their faces together somehow, in a frustratingly wonderful exchange of tongues and breaths. There was groaning and teeth, like animals trying to consume without waste, starved of each other’s air, until they were satisfied enough with the result.

Sex was always that way with them. They had time for the desperate need and the patient conversation of their bodies. The fact that they could fall at the same time in the right mood for both was just the result of years by each other’s side in the vital and the mundane.

But Rick had to admit, Morty had his own little tricks under the sleeve, and wasn’t ashamed to put them on practice when the titles and the reasoning was far from any of them. He could always surprise him with a new gesture, a new movement, or just unleashing a stream of filthy honesty that made his blood boil.

Like the moment in which they pressed their faces together, like trying to imprint each other’s smell on their bodies, and Morty searched for the privacy of a secret he had saved in his chest for too long.

“Please, fuck me” he whispered and pretty much flew away Rick’s resolution to keep his cool, because dirty talking was not in Morty’s repertoire, but might as well be welcomed with open arms.

Despite popular belief, Sergeant Rick Sanchez did not have a quarter of the amount of sex he was presumed, from all rumors of K-7, and only Morty knew this. All he had learnt had come from a few prostitutes and inexperienced partners that couldn’t figure out the truth. So there was a lot Morty had to put up with the first years, both being lucky enough not to notice, as basically were novices together. Also meant they only knew each other’s bodies to the last inch, as well as developed precise tastes and performances only dedicated to the other. 

They could still take each other by surprise and were always excited to level with each other’s needs.

“Yeah?” Rick asked, assuming a complete role of composure he was not feeling, and it was obvious given the amount of pre he was oozing “Is that what you want?”

“Yes” was the sweet plea he received in exchange for a good ass groping, exposing his hole to the cold air that brushed the sensitive, pulsating skin. “Rick…”

“Yeah… well, too bad I like to take it slowly, don’t you think?”

There was resignation, and suppressed lust on those shiny eyes, but still Morty was so brave, and so obedient, he accepted his fate long before he gathered strength to formulate his need. Why would it ever be different? Rick was a patient predator. He liked to consume his prey slowly, reverently. He hated waste, and a quick fucking out of need only could be simply offensive to him.

It broke Rick’s heart to see him so needy, so he decided to change that for him. After all the calm demeanor he was having was merely aesthetic. Part of the unreachable Sergeant that could keep his obedient soldier at edge for the longest time.

He pecked a gentle apology on Morty’s kiss-swollen lips, and silently promised “soon”. They had time, at least eight hours of complete isolation, so he would make them count.

Perky nipples welcomed him when he dragged his lips down and sucked for dear life. It was one of Morty’s sweet spots, and although he was very tempted to make him with the attention, how fun could it be, if later on he wouldn’t even bear a feather brush? He had to manage well the stimulation in such a young body.

He licked them goodbye for now, adoring some training scars with the lips, and other shiny spots due to constant exoskeleton use. Chafed areas with no sensitivity that seemed to regain nerves during sex, which had incomparable beauty for Rick’s eyes only.

His hunger journey drove him straight to the leaking cock of the boy. It wasn’t generous, but still promised an inch or more of development until the last minute of his body’s maturity. What Morty lacked in size compensated in charm; such an inviting, uncut lovely thing that shot up his hunger, and wasted no time in wrapping his mouth around it, mentally preparing for the thrust the kid always did, like the first time.

There was a specific arousal dedicated to the feeling of the soft, slightly loose skin of Morty’s little cock, dragging up and down against his tongue, so he made sure to reward his own enjoyment by humming, vibrating against him, and suckling loudly to embarrass him. Eye contact was also necessary not to miss any detail of the light up face of his soldier who also never reasoned he could just turn off the lights if he felt too embarrassed. Rick had the theory he had just assumed they had to look at each other at all times to verify, despite knowing full well which things brought pleasure and which didn’t.

He was greeted with an utter expression of delight; shiny eyes and slightly open mouth to breath in short gasps, eyes dancing from the entrancing image of his Sergeant offering a warm hole to wet his dick, and the suddenly not interesting expanse of the universe outside his window.

Rick could feel the needy hungry rim against the tip of his fingers, while massaging his bubbly ass. He liked to tease and promise, as well as Morty enjoyed being teased and promised. Sometimes he wondered if he had made the boy discover his tastes, or if he had coerced them into his mind. Anyhow, both of them had good feedback going on.

A loud ‘pop’ elicited a moan from Morty, and Rick licked his lips, unable to let go of his soft flavor. Then he slapped the fleshy part of his ass and made a slight gesture with the head.

“Fours” he ordered simply, but before Morty could obey, he added a few more sucks on his cock, nonchalantly, just to make sure he wasn’t missing a single drop.

It was a little embarrassing to be copying porn movies, or at least that's what Morty thought at the beginning of their physical development. Getting his references from an experienced character seemed like trying to show off a skill he didn’t have. To his surprise, he ended up finding out that most of the skillful movements he admired from the screen could come out quite naturally by themselves, once he accommodated himself properly to receive all the right angles.

So “fours” in fact meant: ass up, chest down, and so he did, crawling his way down, giving himself a break before adopting the pose, pressing his cheek against the feather mattress, sliding his knees open and exposing the entirety of his ass, and brushing his own fluttering hole with two fingers.

“Oh, no” Rick chastised, grabbing his wrist to pull it away from there “not again, I’m here” and no matter how deliciously entrancing was to see Morty fucking himself with his fingers, he would not tolerate a second torture of the sort, as long as he had hands to prevent it.

A light giggle made Rick smile, coming from a joyful soldier that couldn’t keep it together, upon remembering the only time he could get it his own way, having sex on a Wednesday after a long mischievous teasing that had his Sergeant all hot and bothered. No matter how many times he tried to replicate it, he just couldn’t, but didn’t take away that first time they both remembered fondly.

“I can do better than that” a low rumble from the hoarse voice of Rick brought back the seriousness of the scene, and Morty sighed deeply, at feeling his breath brushing his rim, and a subtle appreciative hum, right before the wet mouth of his Sergeant went to attack his sensitive hole.

“Rick!”

Morty tried to find purchase on the bed sheets, reassuring his knees against the mattress, while his Sergeant simulated having a mouth against his own, making out with it, devouring his conscious from that particular, needy rim that tried resisting the bold movements of a playful tongue. As any assassin, Rick had sex as such; intense and opportunist, as if he could die the next day and he had to enjoy every experience at its fullest. It could easily drive a young man crazy.

Unconsciously, his body tried to separate a few times, unable to process that amount of pleasure, but Rick’s mouth followed dutifully, until his hands found rest on his thighs, and forced him to keep still, face buried between his ass cheeks, feasting over the pitiful moans sounding all over the room.

“Rick, please…” and those were the magic words that slowed down the maddening rhythm of his greedy sergeant that continued slowly fucking his way in, using a gentler torture mode to snatch the power of reasoning out of him. Suddenly, Morty was hyper aware of his nipples against the unforgiving linen of the bed, the creamy, heavy substance leaking out of his dick, and the trembling of his legs, announcing a losing battle against his own resistance.

Eventually, Rick’s own need separated him from the pulsating rim, puffy and looser from the eating out. Morty felt on his side, agitated and unsatisfied, trying to gain composure once more, avoiding touching his own dick to finish up the job. even if he knew Rick wouldn’t mind him doing it, still he strived for both of them to enjoy together at all times.

Seeing at his side, he could notice the angry red tone on his sergeant’s cock, and the tasty appearance that coerced him to crawl in his direction, laying down with his head on his thigh, like an obedient, needy pet, and look at his eyes with glossy eyes.

“May I…?” he asked shyly. And fuck yeah he could, Rick thought. Morty was awesome at blowjobs but somehow he could see that such politeness didn’t come from an innocent charade, but an honest permission request, as probably he thought he wasn’t that good at it. Despite Rick telling him several times he did like it when he used a little of his teeth.

The older man went to caress at his cheek, and gently opened his mouth with the thumb, using the free one to direct his cock over the permissive, obedient mouth waiting wide open for him. He teased his tongue a few times, brushing and smearing his pre all over him, and Morty allowed him, as marking and staining was among his preferences.

“Don’t. Choke” Rick warned, as he usually did, because that endearing enthusiasm ended up more than one time with a sore throat from his soldier, and this time, this mission needed him and his voice on top notch.

There was a dumbfounded agreement nod, but the older man didn’t have much hope on Morty keeping his promise. Still, he trusted it would not end that badly at the end of the night and permitted his soldier to receive the shaft at leisure. Rick had to grab onto the sheets tight for a good ride.

But that day seemed an exploring opportunity for both, for new limits and desires. Normally Morty was a very enthusiastic cock sucker, but today he seemed to appropriate a more patient attitude, taking his time to reverently coat him with his mouth and suck, like it was the first time. Like the day he took it easy with an ice cream pop. Shy and short, he made sure his tongue went all over the surface, and was well lubricated for some savoring. It was so fucking frustrating, but Rick did not dare to interrupt whatever was happening there. He saw himself anticipating the day Morty decided to bring him on edge, so he couldn’t really complain. Probably would take him too long to figure out his soldier was trying to take as much time as possible before letting him go out of that room.

He groaned, and softly thrusted on that wet hole, which the younger took as a reward, and continued slowly engulfing his cock, surprisingly keeping his promise of not choking. He was testing the limits of his own patience, and Rick could not help but feel proud of him once again. Horny as hell and needy as fuck, but still, proud.

There was sweet moaning which made Rick smile, and caress the full cheek of his soldier, pressing a little with his fingers. From his perspective, Morty looked lovely, but he also knew it wasn’t the whole extent of his charm, as he looked his best when absolutely deranged by pleasure. He knew exactly how to get to that point.

Grabbing one of the thighs nearby, he dragged Morty’s body to his side, allowing him to continue the loving attentions on him after a surprise moan for the sudden change of position. And he knew exactly why this was happening, so when he felt Rick’s hand near his ass, immediately grabbed his cheek with one hand, keeping it opened enough for him to work his way in without difficulties.

“Good boy” he praised his delighted partner, who seemed beyond pleased with his own instinct, and continued lovingly sucking on that hard, deliciously thick shaft.

Lube was never too far from his reach, so it was a matter of stretching his hand to the vest he had abandoned to find a brand new bottle, specially bought for that trip. With Morty he would need half of it at least, enough to sate the kinks of that little whore of a grandson he had.

The first five or six times they could never reach to pass from two fingers, and that was fine; even if they could never achieve proper penetrative sex, the idea was to have fun. But Rick had the theory that Morty had practiced in secret by himself to get used, but as long as he didn’t hurt himself, he never thought of it as anything else but a loving gesture.

Still, Rick never stopped being careful on prep, and built his way up, by brushing his fingers slightly against the fluttering hole, testing the relaxation of it, circling the wrinkly skin and fucking halfway in. He could see it was something Morty had been waiting eagerly, when he felt the breath pitching around his cock and a few more anxious sucklings rewarding his attention. So he continued stretching, playing inside it, just to make absolutely sure it wasn’t painful for him, sometimes being a teasing bastard by entering to the knuckle and steering hard on him, earning a few choked up noises and more pressure around his dick.

Two fingers was the next best thing for Morty, after his cock. It wasn’t really anymore about stretching but only satisfying his need to be fucked, invasive, but not serious enough. Rick could have him for hours basking at the gentle thrusting and bringing him on edge before dragging him back with just removing his hand. He had tried a few times, but he could tell his soldier could get a little upset if he wasn’t willing to be patient.

Unconsciously, Morty sucked at the pace of the finger-fucking. There was also some sweet mewling in between, but Rick could enjoy himself marking the rhythm of the blowjob by simply twisting his hand in the right places which provoked reactions on his partner; all of them cute and needy. The vibrations of his voice did wonders on his sensitive skin, which rewarded his soldier with a few more pre drops.

Morty’s hand let go of his own ass cheek and grabbed Rick’s wrist, to which the older man let his fingers still to allow him to move his hand at leisure, at the speed and places he wished. It was also a good way to know how to improve his own technique.

“Want one more?” he offered, and the response was a rolling of the tongue around the glans while nodding “Alright, I’ll put on some more lube”

Morty really didn’t need it, but the idea of sloppiness was too tempting to ignore, so he released Rick’s hand to maneuver the bottle, while he used the time to separate from his cock and breath without obstructions, kitten-licking all over the surface he could find. He hadn’t given his testicles any attention, wasn't he a terrible boyfriend? So, decided to change that, he raised his dick with a hand to properly work on them.

Until he felt a hard surface in his hole, and he stopped mid way, breath taking a fast pace in a second. Oh, fuck, he also knew what that was…

When the violent spurt of lube entered his body directly from the bottle, Morty moaned long and high, grabbing tight on the sheets under his body, fighting the impulse to let it go. It was crudely applied inside, and it was cold. At the same time, one of his favorite experiences during sex, although he never could be properly ready to receive it.

Mewling Rick’s name, he tried to find concentration to keep attending him, but once he was bursting with the creamy substance, his Sergeant demonstrated how capable he was of driving his body crazy, when he introduced three fingers with no warning, no pain, and moved them expertly, until he had him again in fours, offering his ass for a good pounding.

“‘s that good, huh?” he asked, finding quite the entertainment by watching him just take it with a blissful expression and making his best effort to open his knees even more, moving at the rhythm of his hand; enjoying the loose feeling of it.

“Please… I’m ready…” Morty managed to moan, and threw his hips back, mashing his ass against Rick’s hand a few times. “Please, Rick…”

“So polite” he teased, towering over him to kiss his shoulder blades, as an advice to be ready.

Eager, Morty took a few deep breaths, not because he would hurt, but only because he had to last more than a few minutes being utterly fucked. Rick was a wild animal when it came to sex; there was no way to stop his thrusting when he started to need the friction around his shaft, so the only reasonable solution, as an obedient cocksleeve, was to try and come with him, so they could both recover at a close amount of time. It was never once or twice a night, that was just warming up.

Rick kneeled behind him, and explored the surface of his asscheeks with his hands, adoringly and full of greed. There was something special about his skin; he could be a tough guy ready to take some good punches, but his skin was sensitive, and could be marked with the slightest pressure. So he grabbed his cock and slapped his hole a few times with it, desperation filling up Morty’s voice when he rushed him once again.

He enjoyed some more friction all along the warm space between his cheeks, and finally locked his gland against the pulsing rim, pushing forward.

“Yeah, that’s…” Rick could hear his grandson’s muffled moans against the mattress, and felt quite flattered, as there was just the right amount of resistance, but a soft, pleasurable slide in that warm, welcoming body. Then a long moan, when he brushed the prostate, most likely, and comfortably sat inside, all the way in. “Good… mmn.. g-good…”

“Nnh” was the grunt that followed, from Rick’s side, hissing in pleasure when he started moving, slowly, deep, barely pulling out at all.  
Morty chanted Rick’s name like a plea; more,faster… he was so entranced in the movement, he could barely think coherently. It was better just to let himself enjoy it. The more focus he could be in the movement, instead of reaching the orgasm, the more he would last. 

Little bastard had the best ass in the multiverse, Rick thought, holding him in place to use his hole and please himself, knowing for sure he was doing the same for Morty. So warm, squeezing his cock in a tight, loving place. He knew it was home, it was his, as it always would. So he had to take good care of it, had he?

Well, fucking him softly would not leave to any satisfaction eventually, so when he started gaining speed, both fell into a bubble where nothing could reach their thoughts, nothing could interrupt that moment.

There was a sweet song in Morty’s moans, but they were scarce and choked up on the bed, so Rick felt the need to do something about it. He pulled out, earning a painful complaint from the young man, who looked at him with betrayed eyes. Why would he ever pull out during the best part? 

He looked so offended, that made Rick smile, and exhale a laugh.

“I want to see you” he explained, then making Morty look down, ashamed of the reason, but still compliant when he made an effort to abandon the initial pose that strained his legs and hips. The front of his body was fully exposed, and Rick could not help but lower down to lick on his too sensitive nipples, while raising the underside of his knees up.

Morty aided with holding his legs up, sharing a kiss when the older man looked for him. Pleased, he sweetly mewled when he could feel his cock again, entering swiftly, and cried out in deep betrayal when he pulled out once again. Was it a game for Rick to see him desperate?

Well, it looked like it, when he viciously entered the deepest part of his body, and then left, trying to make him lose control. The most cruel of tortures, offering heaven and then taking it away.

“Don’t… pull out a-anymore…” he sobbed, begged, using his legs to wrap his waist. His teary eyes were everything that was beautiful in the multiverse for Rick. He did love a good war scenario, but he could replace all his memories with the different faces of Morty asking “please”, or “I need you”.

Oh, fine. It was time to stop being a bastard already, wasn’t it?

“Okay, but let me hold you like this” Rick half grunted, straightening up his back to grab the underside of Morty’s knees, and push them forward. The obscene sight of his cock deeply buried in his ass could haunt his most perverted dreams, and he wished he had his phone nearby to take a picture. Although he had a good photographic memory, so he would keep the image for the hard times.  
Under the warning look on Morty’s eyes, he pulled back a few inches, slamming in to test out the resistance. As usual, there was none, and he could only meet needy moans that he tried to satisfy as best as he could.

In absolute bliss, Morty arched his back, making use of his admirable flexibility to reach unusual angles. And from that moment, there was no way to stop the movement.

It was overwhelming the way in which Rick was burying his cock inside his smaller body. He was really out of control, slamming back over and over, taking Morty’s breath away with each thrust, not even allowing him to properly process the magnificent sensation until a new one replaced it, making a mess of scrambled sounds out of his throat.

Adding up to the bliss of having him fucking his hole, Morty basked at the sensation of his scars below his palms; the rugged texture filled up his mind of brave scenarios of victory, and also memories; many of those scars were healed by him, admiring his wide shoulders and sewing up the wounds, knowing they would be there forever, making valleys of appealing look for his eyes only.

Not long after, they were fucking back in fours, and a leap of time later, against the window of the quarters. Morty breathing throaty tarnishing the glass in between moaned begging and admired gasps at the energetic pace. Rick did not stop his speed, his strength, like a machine made for it. Lustful and intense, while Morty was manhandled at leisure. Turned around, carried up, unable to resist the manipulation, like a sex doll, ready to be taken anywhere, everywhere. His capacities limited to kiss back, squeeze his cock harder, moan and enjoy. He came once, maybe, he wasn’t really sure. He knew Rick could fuck him overstimulated from an orgasm to the next one.

Reacting with a slap on his ass, making more noise than sensation, he opened his eyes to find himself sitting over Rick’s lap, who was enjoying the original leather couch in the side of the room, waiting for him to react. The older man was noticeably pleased with his previous work, as he could clearly see he had brought Morty to the point in which he did not register anything beyond his own pleasure.

“Well, now it's your turn” he pointed out, leaving his arms around his waist, as he needed a break, but not necessarily stop.

There was a resigned gasp from the younger man, who had to accept his fate, and kissed him for agreement, when he was compelled to be the one concentrating instead of just dutifully expecting his orders.

He took a better position, holding Rick’s shoulders, and gently stirred his hips, trying to find the better angle for both, deciding back and forth would make the best movement, so they wouldn’t take risks in pulling out by accident. And then he applied such idea, kissing the willing mouth of his Sergeant, while moving his body, softly at first, and boldly while the need was piling up among both, showing clearly when they could barely keep up making out, going from a sweet tongue exchange to a full feral need, all clashing teeth and breathing each other’s gasps.

Nothing could beat the feeling of making his Sergeant to enjoy himself, thought Morty, picking up the pace, lube smearing all over their laps, falling in the expensive couch that nobody gave a shit about. Oh, how he wished to be his sex toy forever, how he desired to keep Rick with him, hidden from the multiverse, until the end of time itself. Maybe that could be his biggest ambition. Not conquer the universe, but to just conquer all of his Rick.

Mindless, he kept fucking himself over and over with that thick cock, ignoring the soft grunts of “slow down” that Rick was trying to formulate. How could he, though? He was doing exactly what both wanted, nothing more. Why extend the act any more?

“We… we have… time…f-for more…w-we have...” Morty managed to moan, barely reasoning if it was true or not. He didn’t care, just trying to convince him to let go and restart over until the last ounce of strength. Forget the titles, forget the mission, forget anything that is not me, us, this place, this moment.

An invitation beyond attractive for the older man who could feel himself younger and capable with Morty by his side. Like both eager teens with their first love, which was not such a different concept than the truth.

Ah, fuck it, why containing, anyway? They already had a nice round one. So he strongly grabbed onto the smaller body and raised him up to have more space to fuck his way to the orgasm, while one of his hands went to grasp on his smaller dick to pump it a few times, knowing for sure even if he wasn’t ready, Morty could not possibly resist that pavlovian response of his body.

Echoed moans, an intense trembling worthy contestant for the Richter scale, and soon enough both were spilling their loads on a quite intense orgasm that shook their nervous system; an impossible to manage wave of bliss running down their spines to the most sensitive areas of their bodies reacting in soft short-circuits, affecting their reasoning.

Morty’s rim twitched, pulsing and milking Rick’s cock in fast succession, adding up to the already loose, wet feeling in his hole. It made him mewl and rub his way all over the man’s chest, sucking marks where his mouth could land, in a way to extend the feeling for both. While Rick bit exposed skin, both strongly caressing each other’s body, riding over and over the last of their orgasm.

An exhausted “huff” was shared between both of them, and laughed it off for a moment, Morty hiding his face on the strong shoulder, and Rick making an effort to remember how to reason. But in the end, he opted for option two, which was to carry Morty back to bed, and flop behind him, spooning the fresh back of his only Soldier.

“You okay?” both asked at the same time, in that strange, unique way to connect beyond Rick and Morty connections. The capacity only earnt by long time lovers, or soulmates, if the younger man could put them in other words, such as the novels of Nurse Morty. This connection compensated the lack of verbal response. They were okay. More than okay.

But missing words could not fill up the blank, terrifying feeling in his chest when Morty opened his eyes, from a quick ten-minutes nap, to feel the body of his grandfather separating from him, in which he quickly thought it was that dreadful moment of the night in which they had to separate. When they had to return to reality.

“Don’t leave yet” he begged, trying to pass it for a nonchalant tone, invitational for more fun, and not the desperate plea to avoid the feeling of despair that could drown him terribly. He quickly turned around to grab his body, pressing him down the mattress to kiss him violently, with found strength that surprised them both, for a moment. What the hell was he doing? Would it be too obvious?

But Rick, his Rick gently grabbed his hands too tight on his shoulders, and made him lose balance to receive his body on a long, reassuring hug.

“Water” he explained simply. Of course, he hadn’t brought any glass of water. “I’m not done with you” added with a confident smile that melted the terrors away from his Soldier, who softly “oh”’ed at the reason, with bright red cheeks.

“O-of course... A-apologies, sir.” he corrected himself, sitting on the bed while seeing the man fetch his bottle from a nearby cooler he hadn’t thought about.

The pause they used to watch each other from both sides of the room, provoked a reassuring feeling of correctness. The power positions remained the same, there was nothing different, in their private dynamics as of yet. If anything, perhaps they were more pronounced than before, and it was that Rick enjoyed quite a lot to be desired to such extent for his needy Morty.

The spell broke at some point and both reacommodated on the bed, resuming the spooning session, with much more interested intentions when he felt the strong calloused hand of his Sergeant travelling on his nipples and old scars.

Rick was about to ask his lieutenant if he had permission to take every valuable hour of his sleep schedule, but he didn’t want Morty to carry an ounce of guilt for having to even joke about such an irresponsible decision. So he did what he always did; take the lead, and trust it was of mutual interest, as long as Morty didn’t look displeased.

\---

Even when the room was at a perfectly warm temperature, Morty felt an unholy cold all over his body when he turned off the alarm, five seconds before it went off. He had been watching the progression of time since the moment Rick fell asleep behind him, barely with enough time to trick the body into a decent rest. Such calculations were vital for a life in which the resting had to be carefully calculated to keep a constant pace during missions.

He hated every single second he had to gently move the arm of his Sergeant and turn around to shush him back into resting, when he woke up, wondering why the roles were backwards. And the answer was logical, of course, but the older man felt a prickle of “wrong” that came with watching the shortest pained micro-expression on Morty.

“I have to be ready before the crew… sleep more” he softly asked, pecking his lips goodbye, leaving him on bed, knowing it was a reasonable explanation, but still awkwardly sounding all over his head. Did he really see that expression or was it just the unusual experience of leaving the bed at different times?

It wasn’t an order, but still, Rick complied, watching him go to the bathroom, before adjusting the clock an hour after, right along the rest of the crew, while his lieutenant was washing the night off; detesting with honesty the uneasy feeling that accompanied him the rest of the nap.

It took an hour more and passed the corresponding eight hours of sleep, after breakfast, until everyone was back on their feet, ready to take positions. Would be some more time of preparation until their first mission, so priorities were rearranged properly not to have anyone slacking around.

While Rick took the soldiers and technicians for a healthy morning training, Morty saw his options; he either stood in his office, trying to pretend he knew perfectly well what he was doing, or he could actually make himself useful and exchange organizational plans with the Morty medic onboard. He knew his particular medic was just an overly trained nurse; there were things he could not be prepared for, so he approached him to direct their steps to the infirmary, strongly trying to ignore it was the exact opposite of the direction where Rick was heading, in a giant ship where they could lost each other for the longest time.

\---

Six days, and far away was the time he could share bed with Rick. Protocol demanded rest for both, and training sessions had left the older man with the option of walking half a mile to meet him in his quarters, or use the valuable time to have some shut eye. Of course, the decision had to come along a difficult moment of responsibility Morty had to perform above both of them. They wanted the mission to be successful, it was not quite the time to spend lusting around when they could resume back home, whenever that moment could be.

But he was running out of options to distract his head from overthinking and planning on going himself to meet him, before he could lose his goddamn mind for going from seeing him 90% of his day, to exchanging some sporadic text messages to check on each other. They were never too expressive over written either, so it was only imaginable how hard it was for both to interpret each other without falling into words that could feel fake from their designated personas.

“Sir, we have a lecture,” said one of the pilots.

Thank fucking god.

“Report”

“We are close to the Bravarius starcluster. Heavily guarded, and the radar detects armament proper of the Galactic Federation. The first outpost. Estimated rank for them to notice us is three hours.”

“Make a left turn, use the behavior of a commercial ship and deviate enough to cloak at a safe distance. We will surround them to see the weakest link on their defense formation”

“Yes, sir”

All that he had said wasn’t so different from what Rick ordered him, when he had the permission to pilot their small ship. All first orders felt like Rick was speaking through him, which was the most reasonable course of action to take. At the same time he was fearing that using his strategies could denote weakness, but no one else than himself would know. Anyhow, he trusted that using old functional plans were just the first step in a successful management.

For the first time in seven days he took a seat on his damned officer chair, as it was the only way to use the comm device to give an indication to the entire ship.

“Soldiers to be prepared in 120 minutes. We are approaching enemy territory. Mapping is on course. Sergeant, present in briefing room asap”

“Affirmative, sir” he could hear shortly after the voice of Rick, making a mess of his internal status, threatening to spill his whole feelings out in a smile for being able to hear his tone. To see him, at last.

But see him only. The room where they met had cameras, and he was fully aware that the Council or any other asshole at the Citadel could be watching and analyzing. It was mentioned in the lieutenants’ briefing, that their capabilities would be tested when they least expected it, to defend their position. Which was not at all between Morty’s interests, but he could not be a mediocre commander for his team if he wanted to bring honor and respect to Rick back home.

They saw each other from the opposite sites of the room, filling up their eyes one another. It had been long, and there was no bigger wish for him than to approach to hold him for deal life, and for the first time honestly express how much he needed him the last week. How much he thought about him, how much he wished they could share a bed, even when there would be no sexual contact. Morty wanted to think that intensity on his Sergeant’s look said the same thing.

Unfortunately, they could not prove their theories when they broke the brief two seconds of pause, while approaching the table to investigate the map that was unveiling in front of them.

A blueprint full of details they were catching with the radar was demonstrating the walls, hallways, venting areas, the crew and the security formations. It was rather well placed, maybe they had gotten advice to be ready for an attack, as it seemed a little excessive for a simple outpost in charge of decoding information.

If it were for them (or any other Rick) the solution would be in destroying the whole fleet without thinking of it twice; they, however, had to take extra steps and rob as much information as possible from the decoding device, which could be of vital importance for the rest of the group. For being such important information, the fact that they were giving the task to the least trusted team could mean that they were expecting failure, or putting an extreme amount of danger to prove them capable. None of the other troops had even a remotely similar task, they got all the fun of having a massive amount of weapons just to enter, clean up the places and return victorious.

Morty quietly cleared out his throat and resigned from receiving the usual questionnaire of Rick that could help him analyze the ship before his eyes. He had to be able to do it himself. The flashing on and off coming from the camera above their heads surely was taking notes of the positions of power and who was leading the conversation, in which it was his task to supply, as the head commander of the crew.

“The ship seems like a cargo type. Most likely the heat lectures here can demonstrate plasma material for their famous ray guns. Since they are heavily guarded, I would provoke a power shortage here and there to get their attention, but not heavy enough to contact motherships. Then we could place an antenna here to extract their communication channels and send to intelligence at the Citadel to decipher the information.”

Rick made mental notes, nodding at all the ideas, which sounded quite tactical and precautious, but it was completely comprehensive for a newborn leader. A wise strategy, perhaps something too sticked to the books, but if the crew was made of pure Gromflomites (and the scan would tell them as much) then it was clever enough to trick them.

“Yes, sir. Extracting point could be here?” he pointed at an area similar to a discharge zone, probably made for industrial garbage. The heat registered every ten minutes seemed like it was just automatic, so there was no need for an employee taking care of it. Still, it was a risky move.

But then he reasoned: If Rick were leading the mission and proposed to do such a reckless act, would he feel that insecurity, or just jump directly into danger for the sake of adventure and conquest? He could cut some slack on it, except he would not be there to cover Rick’s back as usual. The odds to be successful were lower as he was not even aware of how prepared the soldiers were.

“Are the units prepared for such... interesting measure?” he managed to ask, trying to refuse in a polite manner. Rick had to understand, it was too dangerous to accept just like that.

But nothing could prepare him to receive the answer he got, when he could catch a glimpse of a confident smile peeking from the Sergeant before him, which filled him up with jealousy. Pure, bitter, disgusting jealousy.

“They are very proficient, sir. I trust them” 

He trusted them?? With a mere fucking week of knowing them?? With a goddamn week of training, when he spent at least two years trying with all his might to be recognized to be Rick’s partner??

Sure, Morty did not know in fact that was not true. Rick did not trust them as he claimed, but better to spare the details to their lieutenant that already had enough to think about, to add to them the fact that his team was far from ready, but he was sure they didn’t suck enough to lead them to a nice victory.

On his account, Morty was holding to his instinct of blowing a full panic attack at the declaration, and instead, decided to shut his mouth and end the conversation as soon as possible, as Rick seemed so sure those soldiers were ready to charge on a mission that he would never have been trusted with on his first year of service outside the Academy. He just had to… remain calm.

“...granted, then. Now, once you enter here, I want this door blown open, we use two robot Ricks to bluff, while the team will put bombs here, here, and here” he pointed at the dots in the map. “The main computer is here, when the explosions start, you can just blow this area. We only care about the black box. Its indestructible, so we can gather it from the remains of the ship when it’s destroyed”

Rick felt the curious need to grab that sadistic, proficient Morty and slam his body against the table to fuck him senseless in front of all those cameras... But it was not the time, nor the place. Such a ruthless plan… he had learnt so much, he knew that if it weren’t for the exile, he could have become an admirable leader on Earth K-7, surpassing by far General Summer Smith.

“Yes, sir” he replied, without the need to add anything to such flawless course of action, so he stood up, saluting before going straight to pass the order to the team, leaving Morty alone upon the eyes of the Big Brother around him, ignoring the straight face he was keeping was far from being a concentration even and more like a desperate intent to keep his shit together.

Once back in his seat, he held onto the side handles, and watched the briefing without sound from one of the many holo-screens around him. He saw confident expressions, several heads nodding, and he wondered when was the last time Rick had such a large group for a mission, and when he considered a bunch of strangers to be proficient and trustworthy in merely a week. Could he perhaps be underestimating too much the capacity of the Citadel militia? Wasn’t that infuriating for Rick as well?

“Take a load of that cocky Morty” the thought rushed on his mind, freezing him in place. They were...right. He was acting cocky. He was distrusting his team, his Sergeant, and talking like one of those insufferable Ricks on the meeting, the ones he wanted to prove wrong.

After all, Rick could inspire bravado in other people. He had seen it before, and he had experienced it first hand. If there was anyone who could do it, it was him. Also all the years he had of experience would have made him consider the risks and select the team to be used.

“Assembling equipment. Preparing the scouting ship” M.O.T.H.E.R informed, raising his pulse rate to the roof when he saw the countdown starting before the ship would be deployed and the first mission began. He had been practising for this, Rick had agreed, the crew had also expressed their consent… they could do this. Morty could do this, and he wasn’t backing up just now. He was going to trust everything would be okay, and contain the need of running behind Rick with a gun in hand. He had to convince himself that he would be back alive, despite not being there to make sure himself.

“Sergeant, turn on your vest camera” he instructed, unable to contain himself over having some sort of presence in the action, despite knowing for sure everything would be worse when he started seeing shots firing.

“Yes, sir” Rick replied from the other side, and a new screen showed up on his multiple monitors, focusing right in front of him, at the crew saluting once they realized they were the subject of the current image.

“Do not forget, you are the pride of this ship.” Morty told the group, as it surely was expected of him to greet them goodbye. He decided for a good old speech of the Empire from his Earth dimension “Alive and victor, move forward and relentless”.

It was a little confusing for the others, but not for Rick that felt a wave of pride rushing through his veins, and apparently he did some gesture that provoked the rest to follow, in a firm position at the chant of “Yes, sir!”. And despite being the right choice of words, still, Morty felt undeserving of the reaction on them.

Thinking he would feel less uneasy if he were right among the group jumping in the fire line, he accommodated himself on the chair, and prepared when the launching was narrowing down from ten. Through the chest of Rick he could see nervous looks, fistbumps and smiles, trying to encourage each other. They were so noisy… It made him remember his own time as a recruit, as they replaced fear with laughs and yells, as if danger and insecurity could be brushed away with just noise. After losing several teammates, the groups became progressively more and more quiet, until they understood no amount of screaming would make any difference.

He also saw Morty looking straight at his Sergeant, and shyly offering his fist to get a touch. He had been the only one in the group to address their leader.

Once again, dread and jealousy populated his mind when he saw in first person the way in which Rick extended his arm to respond to the friendly gesture.

Stop touching him, stop touching him… he thought, pressing his lips together in a thin line, and breathed in relief when it was over. It burned like poison through his veins, and tensed his muscles in a fighting response he had never experienced before.

“Deploying” M.O.T.H.E.R informed, pulling him away from his thoughts, and Morty did his best to push them as further as he could, in order to properly address the team in their needs, despite not feeling too proud of accepting to himself that if one of them were to be lost in the mission, he wouldn’t feel as terrible as he thought he would.

\---

Seven hours and an explosion later happened before the crew came back, cheering and narrating excitedly the mission to each other. It had been successful, and the black box retrieved, the whole event being as ideal and book traced as possible, but still, victorious. They didn’t even need the backup ship they coordinated, and now their sight outside the window was greeted by a cloud of debris and Gromflomite parts swimming on the emptiness of the universe, soon to be forgotten by all of them.

Morty had been locked in his office for the last hour, pushing the last of his will not to break upon the stress he had been under. He was rather tense when they left the ship, but once he could see enemies standing in front of Rick with laser guns, it took an incredible amount of strength not to scream for him to notice the menaces, and stay still for the gunners and pilots that were surrounding him, probably admired of the composure he was showing, while calmly giving orders and instructions to the rest of the team.

Now, facade over, he tried his best not to run to the loading station and shake Rick’s shoulders to get explanations of why he had been so irresponsible, why he tried so many dangerous moves, and how he could trust so much on them. Because that had been the proof of his words back in the briefing. He really trusted them, he had really let himself be guarded by those amateurs with 70% accuracy.

“Sir? Awaiting instructions” one of the pilots communicated over the mic in his cabin, and he had to clean up his stressed tears, and compose himself enough to face the group on the outside.

Rick was there, taking position by his chair, and one of the team members was testing up the black box they had retrieved. Surely full of valuable information they had to portal back to the Citadel immediately.

“Set course for the second outpost in our route. Notify all personnel to present at the infirmary for check up before setting hyper sleep, 12 hours.”

“Yes, sir”

Once he had convinced himself his voice sounded as usual, he turned around to see Rick on a straight pose, saluting without a single hint of guilt in his eyes, as if he was honestly not aware of the amount of stress he had been through.

“Good job” he managed to mutter softly when he sat by his side, but he was equal ways angry over his recklessness and unable to hold it together when he wanted nothing more than to hug him with all his might and never let go. That could be their downfall one second to the next “The instructions also apply to you, Sergeant” he added in a low voice, keeping it among them two, surprising the older man who only could look at the beret covering the expression of his Morty. Damn uniform.

Was he noticing a slightly upsetness, or was it the persona he decided to assume? 

Anyhow, if he lingered too much there, it could be seen as insubordination, and he didn’t want Morty to carry with such rumors among the ship, so he nodded and immediately left the room after properly addressing his agreement. Probably they could speak about it later, when they found a moment to be alone in Morty’s quarters.

\---

The promised moment, however, never could arrive.

After the first mission and successful presentation of data, new documents were received, with sub missions among the primary orders. Mostly reckon, some of them direct attacks, but what seemed to be more noticeable was that the mood was dropping among the lines, and Morty was getting to a breaking point. Like a boiler about to burst out with stress and frustration.

Hyper-sleep was not doing a difference as the team was clearly showing signs of distress. Six months in space, surrounded by the same people sharing the same problem was not helping at all to consolidate the group whatsoever. They hadn’t had time to rest, as the Citadel kept pushing and pushing, despite all the memos he had sent back, informing there was a counterproductive effect on morale. There was no entertainment either, and as the transparency of his reign had promised, they all knew it wasn’t really Morty’s fault, but that didn’t stop the grudge they were feeling towards the young lieutenant.

K-7 Rick and Morty were excellent tacticians, and none of them were lost in battle thanks to their wits and encouragement. Even when they were professional enough to keep their problems quiet, still, it was obvious that they were in need of a talk they refused to have, and the disagreements were more frequent; started with mundane things like team positions and weapons to use, and slowly escalating to whole strategies and petty details.

It dragged the meetings to no end, but they kept holding it. Before the words started to raise in tone, both of them seemed to shut up and permit themselves a moment in absolute silence in which they analyzed the situation once more, before coming to an agreement, half and half. Only to separate from the room, and not speaking again until the next task.

“You have food, you have weapons, and you have time. You can continue on your missions” have been the words of the Council, heard by the whole team that seemed beyond distressed at one point, and it was quite the last straw he was willing to accept.

“Sir, with all due respect. As a team leader, I must call this mission over. The crew is not able to continue this pace. The morale will not sustain the need of resting they have. This mission has lasted over six months, and no amount of food or hypersleep will compensate the need to return back and--”

“DENIED” Riq IV demanded, with a stern tone that made the lieutenant shiver, and look away from the conversation “You will not call this mission over. We will decide when, and you are far from presenting resignation in the name of this team. The Sulaco will present its reports as scheduled, weekly, and will I hear a word more of this, you shall all be considered traitors to the Citadel, and executed at once.”

That made the trick to break the will of the team into a bunch of trembling, stressed messes on the briefing hall outside the commander’s office. Even the Ricks onboard, brave and tough lowered their heads, withdrawal from the last provisions of alcohol making them weak and anguished. In that moment Morty thought he, too, wanted to cry and hold Rick for consolation, but as much as he wanted it, he also recalled they were the only original pair, and would become a painful sight for the halves he was leading. He had to preach with the example, and still, not getting close to Rick.

The silence sat up among all of them, until Rickimus cleared out his throat after some discussion with his contemporaneous in mute.

“Sulaco, we recognize your efforts. It is not unknown for the Council the work you have provided for the safety of the Rick and Morty kind. We will revise the request, but bear in mind you have at least two more weeks of missions.”

That, at least, was a better image for all the crew that nodded softly, with a hint of hope, but still, it wouldn’t compensate for the need for them to see the clear sky, to get their privacy and spend leisure time. They had proved themselves worthy already, plenty of times, None of them were doubting their capacities, but they couldn’t bear the exhaustion anymore.

“Yes, sir” Morty replied, saluting, but not thanking. Sadistic bastards didn’t need the thanks from him. They were basically sending them to their deaths without any regard for their wellbeing. He wondered if any of the other ships experienced something remotely similar.

Silence filled up his cabin, and he sighed deeply, pressing his forehead against the table. He appreciated the silence lately. All voices were making him upset, and overwhelmed, including himself. But still, he had to suck it up, and take deep breaths, as it was just a matter of time until they could come back, he could fuck off the title and go back to be an obedient soldier, sleeping in his own bed, even listening to Nurse Morty talking for hours no end. He missed his previous life so bad, not even losing his leg had brought so much sorrow to his daily life.

Speaking of, his training was low to null. He barely did some exercises in the morning not to lose shape, but most of his day consisted in sitting his ass in a fucking chair he hated already, listening to mission alerts, one after another, and watching with a dull heart the dangers that were showering upon his team, and his Sergeant.

Rick… Rick hadn’t spoken a single word to him since week two. Time and responsibilities had taken their toll on them. It had butchered the little opportunities they had, using every single excuse to set them apart, and deny them from the smallest relief in each other’s presence. It made them lose understanding of one another’s expressions, confuse physical and mental exhaustion with disdain for the relationship, and as terrified as Morty was, he still didn’t want to bargain the possibility of a conversation that could lead to a break up due to their increasing stress.

With a deep breath, he took the known documents in his hands, and made a gigantic effort to compose himself and face the team that was waiting for a new briefing, of course all collectively agreeing to keep quiet about the Council threat to execute them if they dared to disobey. Hopefully such a note would decrease the riot Morty imagined for the last week.

\---

Ten days up, and no news from the Citadel. There had been no new missions, but neither notice about the resolution of the Council in regards to the rest. They were not holding well, pretty much the missions were carried on with utmost precaution. They weren’t as stressing, but they dragged longer just to avoid much confrontation, and every day the nurse warned him about the effects of long term stress, which he could not even handle himself. It took most of his will not to send everyone to fuck off and portal back home, knowing he would die just one step inside the Citadel.

And eventually all his logical ideas went to unorthodox realms. Or not so much. There was a solution possible, at least short term, or long, depending on the team. Their multiple travel route took them to a galaxy he knew well. A place where they could become the ideal soldiers instead of a bundle of insecurities and emotions. Where they could just… detoxify their pain, their exhaustion.

“Pilots, set course for quadrant east 5-4-T-3”

“Yes, sir”

“M.O.T.H.E.R, override that command” Rick said, silencing the whole room when he stepped inside the cockpit in one of his usual rounds around the ship.

Morty felt his blood boil, in a way he had never felt before, and pressed his lips hard.

“I am the captain of this ship, you cannot override my command, Sergeant” he muttered, jaw clenched.

“This decision you are taking, lieutenant, is far from logical. I must…”

“You must do as I say, and that is final!”

The team who had seen the scene quickly turned his heads to the screens, trying to make themselves as small and barely noticeable as possible. That was not ever among the scenes they had witnessed from the two leaders who always got to agree, after some discussion, using reason and calm.

Noticing they were making a complete ruckus, Morty stood up and signaled Rick to follow him to the office, without instructions of where to even go anymore. The ship floated in the infinite nothing of a rather obscure quadrant in the universe, and everyone looked at each other in doubt when the steel door from Lieutenant’s office closed.

“What are you even thinking, Morty? Submit everyone into a detox?” Rick argued immediately, watching him as he had become a mad man.

“What else? It is the only way to carry on with these missions! Everyone is tired, emotionally drained, and if we detoxify, we could have the hope of getting back alive, instead of rushing up a bunch of traumatized soldiers!”

“Listen to yourself!” raised his voice the older man “you talk about stripping them away from their humanity! Of risking their emotional sides to die in that fucking tank! Do you remember what it was like? Because I do, and I refuse to lose myself to that shit a second time!”

“You wanted this, Rick! You! Not me, you!” Morty yelled, in which was the first time they could ever exchange such a tone “I was happy! I was happy as we were! I was happy being a soldier, your soldier…” each word was more and more quiet, until it was a miserable whisper “You never asked me if I was happy, you just… decided this shit for me… for both of us…”

Fuck no. He was not going to cry. He was not going to break and hurt, and give RIck or anyone the satisfaction of seeing him shattered and aching.

“You decided this… and if you still want me to carry on with it, it will be under my terms” he added with a more grim tone “you do not get to choose for me whenever you don’t like one of my decisions…”

There was no answer from the older man, and Morty missed the surprised, shocked look on his eyes, when he averted them to return to the pilots and resume his orders. It was the only way they could get motivated once more. Detoxifying would release the need of giving up, the exhaustion and the possible insubordination. It would make him an unfeeling machine, ready to take over the crew instead of a weak leader pending from a thin thread of sanity. The leader that his team deserved.

“Morty, I…”

“Sir, we have communication from the Citadel” the words of the pilot seemed hopeful while waiting for the permission to take the call, which Morty did immediately. Anything to interrupt the shitty excuse that Rick would give to excuse his supposedly great idea of dismantling them as a team.

The Council was in meeting, and took a few seconds of quieting each other until they directed their eyes to the video call, and face the serious young lieutenant and his noticeably distressed Sergeant.

“We have decided you are in conditions to return back home” Maximus Rickimus said, and were such wonderful news Morty could not even find the strength to be happy about it, to release the breath he had contained just yet “Return as soon as possible using the safe route that will be submitted to your pilots. Good job, Sulaco”

“Thank you, sir” Morty saluted, being followed by Rick, who was curiously quiet and in such a bad shape that the men on the other side of the screen had the decency of looking guilty for perhaps dragging them to a torture that sure as hell they didn’t deserve.

The communication closed, and there was still silence and tension, for topics half related to the mission, and half truths never told before. A lingering feeling of wrong dancing macabrely among them both, threatening to spill the whole glass of lies and pain over the slightest word out loud.

Morty left the room, closing on his back and leaving Rick alone with his thoughts, and the realization that everything the last six months were an utter lie, a demonstration of devotion and sacrifice that he imposed over his partner, that resented him to no end. His Morty, his soldier…

“All personnel attend to command: Proceed to hyper sleep chambers. Setting course back to the Citadel of Ricks. Autopilot mode.” M.O.T.H.E.R informed, repeating three more times. It would take a month approximately, and Morty would enter as well the cryogenic state, perhaps being the one that most needed it.

Rick dragged his feet outside the room, after an hour of solitude with his own guilt, and passed through the door of Morty’s chamber, trying to access, just to find a rotund denial, as the lieutenant was unable to provide consent. Meaning he was already inside his chamber, without granting him the possibility of regret and apologies well deserved.

The crew was shedding tears of elation and hugging one another when he arrived at the collective quarters, and greeted good night to a few soldiers that were never seen so happy to comply with an order, quickly chatting among them about all the things they would do back home. See their own companions, watch TV, eat ice cream, masturbate… So many mundane things, that Rick envied them for being able to plan with such leisure when he himself was dreading the moment he would have to face his fuck up, when he returned back home, and being unable to rehearsal his own words in the big space of nothing that the hypersleep was. 

Being the last one up, he looked around, at the dark room, lit up only by his own chamber, and the sporadic beeping of his teammate’s life supports, and felt his head fall down, a bitter pain clutching his throat and burning his eyes with regret and sorry.

Hopefully the month of resting would give him the clarity enough to face the facts once they were alone again.


End file.
